Guess I Wanted You Enough to Lie
by roguefembot
Summary: "I don't run," she mumbles stubbornly. His mouth quirks at that, a physical call-out that she's a liar, but he doesn't verbally fight her on it. (or five times Lucas tells Maya he loves her, and one time she says it back)


**A/N: First venture into this fandom. Lucas and Maya have ruined my life. Fave and review so I know this wasn't all in vain :)**

i.

Maya finds Lucas congregating with a group of his baseball pals in the halls before class, his nose crinkled as he laughs at some stupid joke, completely oblivious to the damage he's caused and the repercussions clenching in her fist. When he catches sight of her, he offers a soft smile that curls the edges of his lips and reaches all the way to his shining eyes, but she doesn't have time to be distracted by him.

She drags him away by the lapels of his shirt, ignoring the protests of his popularity court and the confused grunt that falls from his lips. When they've reached a more secluded area of the school, she shoves him against a locker. He falls forward a bit and, because she can, she palms his chest once more until he's pressed starkly against the metal.

"What do you have to say for yourself?" she demands, a sharp fingernail digging where his clearly corrupt heart should be.

"Me?" he asks, brows furrowed as he glances around for help. Finding none, he fixes her with a bewildered expression. "You're the one assaulting me here."

A derisive snort escapes from her on instinct. "You can't be serious," she shakes her head.

Lucas only shrugs. "Whatever I did, I'm sorry?" he offers, and his eyes are genuinely remorseful if not still tinged with confusion.

"I'm not the one you should be apologizing to!" she fires back, much too loudly in her attempt to cling to her rapidly dissolving anger.

His face scrunches tightly in response. "Then… who do I owe an apology to?"

Frustrated, her hands form claws as they waver inches from pulling at her own hair. Or his. Whichever.

"Ri-ley," she enunciates. Her brows rise in conjunction with the name.

"Riley?" he asks, shocked. His mouth opens and closes like a fish gulping for oxygen. "What did I do to Riley?"

"It's not what you did, it's what you didn't do, Sundance," she sighs. Her gaze wavers from his for a moment, fixing on the point of his cheekbone. "She was expecting you to ask her to Homecoming."

"What?" Lucas gapes. "Maya, Riley and I haven't been a thing since… since eighth grade. That was almost three years ago."

"Then why did she think you were going to ask her?" Maya frowns, finding his gaze again. "She said you were dropping all these hints that you liked someone but you were afraid they didn't like you back anymore…

"Who do you like, Huckleberry?" she demands suddenly, smacking at his chest.

He lets out a long suffering sigh. "I don't like anyone," he mumbles, not quite meeting her gaze.

"You're lying!" she points.

"It doesn't matter!" he returns.

"Like hell it doesn't! You made Riley sad! She didn't smile for five whole hours last night!"

"So I should've asked her out even though I don't like her in that way?" He sounds exasperated, but his voice is still rising in volume to match hers.

It causes Maya to pause a moment, resolve faltering as she bites her lip.

"Yes!" she demands finally.

"That's insane."

"You're insane for not liking Riley!" she pushes, hoping to force him to his breaking point.

"How can I like Riley when I love you?" he bursts.

She's finally silent after that.

ii.

Maya peeks around the door frame of the art room, checking both ways to ensure that the hallway is clear. Seeing no one and hearing no footsteps, she finally exits the room. Her gait is a feigned casualness that is deterred only by the fact that she's consciously attempting to step lightly in her unfortunately heavy combat boots.

When she rounds the corner and is met with broad shoulders and a toned chest barely concealed by a blue polo shirt, she chokes on her gasp.

"Pardon you, Hop-along," she recovers without meeting his gaze. "You know how to do-si-do out of my way, don't ya?"

Even as she throws half-hearted jabs, she's trying to side-step him. To no avail.

"You're avoiding me," he accuses. The softness in his voice is disarming, an incredible inconvenience for Maya's crusade.

"Not avoiding you," she corrects, "I just don't have anything to say."

"I accidentally confess my feelings for you, and you don't have anything to say? _You?_ " His eyes crinkle doubtfully, and she only notices because he's bending so low that she can't avoid glancing at him.

"Nope," she shrugs, finally giving up and just standing still. She continues refusing to meet his eyes.

His reply is indignant. "Why not?"

"Because you're mistaken."

"Excuse me?" he gapes.

"You don't love me," she sighs, her words slow.

"You can't just tell me how I feel, Maya," he says. "That's not how it works."

"Look, Lucas," she starts, finally meeting his eyes and almost wavering at the hope and desperation she finds. Instead, she pushes on, "You can't love me. _That's_ not how it works."

"Why are you acting so surprised?" he returns instead, voice low and gaze steady. She flashes back to a warm night in Texas, his hands soft on her face and his eyes just as earnest. It all fades away in a cloud of smoke, Riley's tearful face, and Lucas's bewildered passivity.

Her voice lowers to a whisper. "I thought this ended years ago."

Lucas's eyebrows furrow as he tucks his lower lip behind his teeth. "It's not like we cut off all contact. What do you think we've been doing for the past few years?"

With a face the picture of concentration, Maya recalls Lucas showing up at her window countless times late at night. Lucas bringing pastries and movies over on the weekends. Lucas tutoring her in math, partnering with her in science, patiently waiting for her to understand everything they'd ever been taught.

(Lucas watching her with unmitigated fondness, Lucas trailing his fingertips along her wrist during movies, Lucas fiddling with her hair in class, Lucas passing out in her bed and Maya curling into his chest. Lucas, Lucas, Lucas.)

She blinks and shakes her head. "Lucas, no-"

"Maya," he interrupts, his hands finding her cheeks. There's nowhere to look but into his eyes, and for the first time, she remembers why she's afraid of the sea. It's the same color as his irises, and there's nothing to do but drown.

"I love you," he says resolutely.

Tears prick her eyes as claustrophobia builds like bile in her throat.

"Well… stop," she pleads, pushing him away.

iii.

They're not really talking, and it bothers her more than she'll ever admit. More than she thought it would. She's not even expressly avoiding him anymore, and still he only watches her from afar, his stare longing and wistful and _sad_. It's driving her insane.

She marches up to him before class, glares at anyone within a ten-foot radius until they disperse with only slight disgruntlement.

"So what, we're not talking now?" she demands.

Lucas blinks. "I thought that's what you wanted."

"I said stop loving me, not stop talking to me," she says, like it's not the most ridiculous sentence she's ever uttered.

Realization dawns in his eyes at her words, a sparkle she hadn't realized was missing suddenly returning. "You love me too," he accuses. He's kind of smirking. She hasn't decided if she wants to smack or kiss it away.

"No, that's not-" Her voice catches in her throat when he steps closer, towering over her even as he slumps to her level. He's always doing that; staring at her straight on.

"Why are you nervous?" he asks, and she can feel the warmth radiating off of him, feel his fingertips as they graze along her knuckles like he might try to hold her hand. She steps back resolutely.

"I'm nervous because you're at least six feet tall and have no concept of personal space," she shoots back, crossing her arms.

"You approached me first," he raises a brow.

"From a respectful distance."

He sighs, but there's still a touch of delight dancing in his eyes. "Well, we're talking now. Isn't that what you wanted?"

"No" comes out before she can even process the thought, and she's quick to backtrack. "I mean – yes." Lucas raises his eyebrows again and she tacks on, "I don't know. I want us to talk normally."

"You want to know what I want?" he asks, and she shakes her head.

"Not particularly."

"Well, I'm gonna tell you."

"You really don't have to."

"I'm going to, so do you want it straight in the face, or do you wanna run?" It's all instinct, his eyes glinting with the nostalgia of another time.

Maya sighs, her gaze flickering along different features of his face. The slope of his jaw, the point of his nose, the crest of his cheekbone. He's all sharp angles, but when she finally meets his eyes, they're soft in that comforting way they always are.

"I don't run," she mumbles stubbornly. His mouth quirks at that, a physical call-out that she's a _liar_ , but he doesn't verbally fight her on it.

"I want… for you to accept my feelings. I want you to come to terms with them, and then I want you to think about your own feelings and come to terms with them as well," he states. "And I don't want you to worry about Riley or anyone else, because this is between _us_."

His mouth hangs a little open then as he hesitates to finish. Maya's too stunned to interrupt with anything snarky, rooted to the spot with a jaw locked tight.

"But I know you don't like to be pushed," he finally says, exhaling as he concedes. "So… I'll wait. I've got a couple years."

His finishing smile is sincere, warm, though there's a flicker of anxiety present in his eyes and the bob of his Adam's apple that she doesn't miss. It's endearing rather than irritating, like she would prefer.

Her throat is dry, so she swallows. Taps her fingertips on her biceps because her arms are still crossed. Wonders how to gain the upperhand when he's bulldozing all her walls with a steadiness and a surety she's never really seen before.

"I miss when you weren't so bold," she finally settles on. It's almost a diversion, except for the fact that it makes Lucas smirk infuriatingly.

"I love you, too," he says, tipping her chin with his index finger before walking away.

She's warm all over, her skin burning and tingling and her head swimming. Maybe he's given her a fever.

iv.

He still stares more than he talks to her, but now it's with so much unnerving self-satisfaction that Maya's skin breaks out in hives. Well, she tells Riley they're hives. Riley thinks they're goosebumps, but Riley also thinks unicorns are a genetic possibility in the near future. Forgive Maya for choosing not to listen to her.

"It's okay if you love him back, you know," Riley tells her one day while they're standing in line at the cafeteria. The words startle Maya out of the death glare she'd been focusing in on Lucas's forehead, a retaliatory act born from the fact that he was watching her with such overflowing fondness that she felt like she might be sick. Like a child who'd eaten too much candy on Halloween. That kind of sick.

"What are you talking about?" Maya snaps, and Riley sighs. Her eyes are filled with the same kind of faithful concern that Maya's seen a thousand times – usually when Maya's being self-destructive and Riley's tasked with fixing it.

"You stare at him just as much as he stares at you. That's a lot of time to waste on someone you don't have feelings for," Riley explains, stepping forward as the line shuffles.

Maya's eyebrows furrow. "I'm testing to see if it really is possible to blow someone's head up with your mind."

"Maya," Riley chastises, her voice stern like a teacher's. Like her father's. He really needs to stop finding ways to head their history classes, because his influence is clearly sticking. "You don't have to pretend that you don't like him for my sake. It's been a couple months since the homecoming debacle, and I realize now I was just disappointed that the only boy I _thought_ was going to ask me didn't. And then Charlie did. And now we're back together, and I'm happy, and I don't have residual feelings for Lucas, okay?"

Somewhere during her long-winded speech Maya's gaze had snapped away from Lucas and instead focused with laser-sharpness on Riley's earnest face. "I know you don't, cupcake," she says, and she realizes that she actually believes it.

Riley stomps her foot in exasperation. "Then why aren't you telling him how you feel? You two could already be dating!" An idea sparks excitement in her eyes. "We could be going on double dates, Maya!"

Maya only rolls her eyes. "Me and Ranger Rick? We tried that once, remember? Didn't work out so well."

"Only because of me," Riley insists. She must know that Maya's about to jump to her defense, because she pushes on rather quickly. "And we were only in middle school. We're juniors now, and I've seen you two together. You're good for each other. You make him happy, and he keeps you in line."

" _You_ keep me in line," Maya returns, ironically gesturing towards the lunch line they're standing in now. "See? Perfectly in line."

Riley sighs. "In a different way, Maya." And Maya knows what she means, so her gaze drops in response. Riley's voice is much softer when she continues: "He'd make you happy, too, if you'd let him."

Maya's saved from having to contemplate that or formulate a snarky response by the fact that they've finally reached the front of the line, and it's their turn to pick out their lunch for the day. Riley doesn't have a chance to get another word in before Maya's already finished perusing and paying, resolutely marching towards their favored lunch table.

Lucas is sitting there, of course, so Maya slides right next to him and steals a tater tot.

"You literally _just_ bought tater tots," he deadpans, motioning towards her tray.

"Yeah, but they taste better stolen," she shrugs. "C'mon, Huckleberry, don't you love me or something?"

His returning smile is gentle. "Yeah. I love you."

Maya shifts uncomfortably under his gaze, suddenly regretting bringing it up in the first place. When she glances at Riley for help, Riley only grins broadly before plopping down next to her.

"Bay window in four hours?" she requests, and Maya sighs.

v.

She can feel her throat closing up, her eyes watering, her hands shaking even as she clutches at the edges of her dresser. She's squeezing her eyelids closed – preparing herself for the storm of emotions swirling in her chest – when it happens.

There's a knock at her window.

Surprise and shame inspire her to twirl towards the sound, hastily rubbing at her eyes and threading her fingers through her hair as she registers her intruder's identity.

It's Lucas, and he's watching her with some mixture of caution and hope.

Maya flings the window open.

"What are you doing here, Huckleberry?"

"I just wanted to see y-" he stops mid-sentence, mid-step into her room. His eyes are imploring. "What's wrong?" he asks softly.

Maya rolls her eyes, feeling transparent under his watch. "Nothing's wrong."

He steps inside then, approaching her slowly. Like she's something fragile and unpredictable. "Have you been crying?"

"I told you nothing's wrong, Lucas," she snaps. "You don't have to fix me or use this as a chance to prove you really do love me. I'll be fine. It's just one of those days."

His eyebrows furrow, something like hurt ticking the muscles in his jaw as he watches her. "Is that what you think I'm doing? Trying to prove something?"

She means to tell him that it only makes sense given the fact that she's refused to address what he claims to be feeling. That she knows he wants and needs to play the hero. That she doesn't want to be his damsel. It all gets caught somewhere in her throat as fresh tears bloom, so she just crosses her arms and shrugs.

"Maya…" he starts. His voice is raspy, a little broken. Did she do that? "I don't tell you I love you because I want to fix you. And I'm not trying to prove anything by offering you comfort." Tilting his head, he steps forward. "I just wanted you to accept that my feelings existed. I'm not asking for anything in return."

"Then why are you here? Why are you _always_ here?" she asks. It's little more than a whisper.

"I- I just want to be around you, I guess," he admits, arms floundering in the air like he isn't sure how to occupy space anymore. He stills in time to dejectedly ask, "Do you want me to leave?"

Whatever's lodged in her throat grows heavy at the thought, and though she swallows, she can only manage a slow shake of her head.

It seems to renew something in him, because his next words are "Can I hug you then?"

Her head's barely nodded a centimeter before he's wrapping her in his arms, enveloping her in warmth and solidness and _comfort_.

She can feel every last wall she's painstakingly built, brick after brick, tumbling down with the glide of his fingers against her scalp. It's enough to burst the floodgates, quiet sobs rocking her body as tears fall unbidden.

Even when her tears have dried and her breathing has evened out, Lucas holds her. He doesn't say anything and he doesn't try to look at her. He just breathes, soft exhales patting against the top of her head.

"My dad sent me a Christmas card with his new family on it," she says, filling silence because she's ready to. "I don't know why it's bothering me so much; he only did it to be nice. He wasn't trying to hurt me or anything."

"You're allowed to be upset about it anyway," he returns with conviction. "He's the one who chose a life that didn't include you on his Christmas card." She glances at him then, her eyes catching his and staying there. His jaw is tight like he's holding something back, and she registers then how deeply her pain has affected him. That it's branded itself into his skin and twisted itself like sinews around his muscles.

Lucas brushes a strand of hair from her face while she stares, his fingertips lingering at her jawline.

He could tell her he loves her again, if he wanted to. He could even kiss her and she'd probably let him.

He doesn't. He's nothing if not respectful of her boundaries, holding back even when the prime opportunity presents itself. He's selfless.

Maya realizes in that moment that she _wants_ him to remind her how he feels, to reassure her that it's a feeling that has endured months of her feigned disinterest. He may be selfless, but she is not.

"Say it," she requests suddenly. His eyebrows draw together.

"Say what?" he asks, thumb tracing a line down to her chin.

A shaky breath finds its way out of her mouth. "Remind me how you… feel. About me."

When he realizes what she's asking, he looks pained. "I love you," he swears.

She believes him, so she kisses him. He's frozen still for a moment too long.

"Prove it," she prompts, lips slanted against his.

And he kisses her like she's his last breath, holds her close like she's fading into mist.

i.

Afterwards, when they're tangled in a mess of limbs and hair and sweat, she traces his jawline with the pads of her fingers.

"I love you too, y'know," she admits, propping her chin on his chest. His eyes, which were previously closed, snap open at her admission.

"Yeah?" he asks, somewhere between doubtful and hopeful and a hairsbreadth away from happy.

"Yeah," she confirms. "If I had to imagine someone on my stupid family Christmas cards in the future, you'd definitely be in contention for the number one choice." She's rolling her eyes even as she completes the sentence.

Lucas only smiles, pressing his curled mouth to hers until she's not thinking anymore. He grounds her with his hand at the back of her neck, but she's floating, floating, floating.

"Who else?" he asks when she's good and breathless.

Her forehead crinkles. "Who else?" she repeats back.

"Who else is in contention for the Christmas card?" he elaborates. The faintest smile pulls at his lips, and Maya feels herself mirroring the sentiment.

"Hmmm," she pretends to contemplate the possibility. "Johnny Depp."

Lucas's eyebrows rise impossibly high on his forehead. "I'm above Johnny Depp?"

"Only barely," she sighs, feigning annoyance. "He's looking kind of old now." Her nose scrunches in displeasure, and Lucas chuckles.

"Well, when I'm old," he starts, eyes locked intently with her own. His knuckles brush against her cheekbone until his hand expands, cupping her cheek and cradling her in place. "I'll look at you the same way I'm looking at you now."

There's a moment where she soaks in his gaze, the soft tilt of his eyebrows, the unadulterated love and bliss swimming in his eyes and pulling at the corners of his lips.

And then she gags.

"You're so cheesy, Cowboy," she teases.

He kisses her malice away, pauses to reiterate, "I love you."

"Yeah, yeah," she sighs, arching to kiss him again. He dodges until his lips align with her ear.

"Say it back," he prods. Maya laughs.

"You're an idiot," she accuses. His arms wind around her waist and pull her in as he lays a soft peck to her shoulder. "But I love you."

She can feel his smile imprinting her skin.


End file.
